


right into the great unknown

by pyrality



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/pseuds/pyrality
Summary: Tailgate's hand is hanging off the edge of the recharge slab as he sleeps. Cyclonus thinks about how he's heard Chromedome and Rewind sleep holding hands between their beds, and he can feel his eyes burn brighter in the darkness of their room as he stares at Tailgate's hand like it is an offering.
  I don't deserve him, Cyclonus thinks quietly, his head buzzing with noise, memories, and dreams.
Cyclonus and Tailgate talk about everything and nothing, about the great unknown of their relationship and everything in between.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from american authors' song what we live for

There are many things, at times, Cyclonus thinks he does not deserve. The new lease on life granted by Vector Sigma's chamber. The forgiveness for Kimia, a firm but ultimately kind pardon given by a hotheaded, bright eyed captain. The trust _—_ tentative but trust all the same _—_ the crew has in him. 

He wakes, in the dead of night, to the weight of his sins. He sits up and half expects to see an empty bed like normal next to him, but Tailgate is sleeping quietly in his bed tonight. He has one hand pressed to the energon vial pendant on his chest and his other hand is left hanging off the edge of the recharge slab. He thinks about how he's heard Chromedome and Rewind sleep holding hands between their beds, and he can feel his eyes burn brighter in the darkness of their room as he stares at Tailgate's hand like it is an offering.

 _I don't deserve him_ , Cyclonus thinks quietly, his head buzzing with noise, memories, and dreams.

Tailgate stirs, a quiet rumble of noise curling like smoke into the air. His visor lights up as he rouses, blinking and flickering as he gets his bearings.

"Cyclonus?" he asks softly, inquisitively. He doesn't answer right away, so Tailgate huffs out a sigh. "You think too loud."

He breathes out, slow. "I apologize for waking you."

"I can practically hear the gears in your head turning!" Tailgate teases, laughing a little as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. The laughter fades from his frame as he reaches up again, small fingers curling around the energon pendant.

Tailgate touches the pendant with a reverence Cyclonus feels is undeserved to be spent on him, but his spark pulses once in his chest, sharp, all the same at the sight.

"What's bothering you, Cyclonus?"

"Nothing," he answers, stop-start, stilted. He must be honest, so he looks away. "Everything."

Tailgate's visor lights up out of the corner of his vision, a radiant bright light in the dark, and they spark, a crackle of electric emotion. His field expands, and Cyclonus can sense anxiety now that it's wide enough to touch his own field. 

"Are you mad at me?" he asks, and his voice doesn't waver.

"No."

"Then why do you look at me different?"

Cyclonus breathes in, sharp, and turns to look at him. His eyes glow brighter in response to Tailgate's visor. "I have... thoughts about you, ones that I do not deserve to have."

Tailgate shifts, upset or confused, perhaps both. His field gives off a swirl of emotions Cyclonus can't discern properly.

"I wish Getaway hadn't been dishonest," comes tumbling out of Cyclonus' mouth, "He made you happy."

Tailgate smashes his fist against the recharge slab, and it bends, metal crushing itself as though it were only paper. "I don't want a liar to love me," he says, and his voice cracks and glitches with emotion. "He said you would be proud of me if I did it!"

Cyclonus freezes. "For me?" he repeats.

Tailgate is rippling with energy, sparks flying off his visor, crackling in the air between them. His field is a tangled mess of anxious emotions, and it almost makes Cyclonus dizzy being in contact with it. He pulses a wave of reassurance through his field and Tailgate jolts. He hangs his head as he turns away from him, form slouched and ashamed.

"Why?"

"Because I embarrass you," Tailgate says quietly, words sounding fuzzy to Cyclonus with the noise in his head. "Because you're ashamed of me, aren't you?"

"Is that what he told you?" Cyclonus asks. He feels his claws dig into the palm of his hand as he clenches his fist tighter. A fool, an inarticulate fool.

Tailgate rubs a hand over his visor, a sharp static, glitchy sound filling the air. "You've never said anything. Who wouldn't be embarrassed about being friends with me?" He starts speaking faster and faster, a nervous tick, "I took a nap for six million years and missed a civil war and everything else in between." He clenches his fingers against the indentation he made in the bed. "I can't fight very well and until this weird... mutant... spark, I didn't have any special talents or skills like Skids or Trailcutter or... or... Chromedome."

"You shouldn't be who you aren't."

"Yes," Tailgate says faintly, "You said that about the waste disposal thing too."

"I'm sorry," Cyclonus murmurs, and it feels like he's never been this honest before in his life. "I'm not ashamed of you."

"You were," he counters, "Once."

"Once," he repeats, "And I was a fool."

Tailgate remains silent, dwelling on his words. His visor is still blindingly bright, but the light starts to fade slowly as the sound of Tailgate's steady deep breaths fills the space of their silent room. Eventually, the light of his visor dies down to the normal dim glow it usually appears at.

"Do you believe me?" Cyclonus asks.

Tailgate huffs out a dazed laugh, and it still sounds uncertain _—_ hurt, and Cyclonus thinks about the scars he once self-inflicted on his face.

"I want to," Tailgate replies. "Whirl says you care." His visor switches off. "He said you always cared but that you were never that good at talking. Something about a cease-fire too, I got confused."

Cyclonus presses his hand to his forehead, offlining his own optics. Whirl? He gasps out a laugh, a sudden sound, and he surprises both him and Tailgate with it. He onlines his optics again, meeting Tailgate's visor evenly, and he can't help the smile curling his lips. This is ridiculous, he thinks. He's been nothing short of a complete imbecile, running himself into the wall denying his feelings while Tailgate has been running himself into the ground trying to figure out how to get his attention. And Whirl, of all people, is helping them fumble through this mess.

"Cyclonus?" Tailgate asks, voice soft, still hesitant and uncertain.

He stands up and paces to stand in front of the minibot, holding his gaze, letting his field stretch out around him. Tailgate relaxes at the feeling of comfort, several unveiled threads of affection Cyclonus allows to show in his field. His visor flares bright, and Cyclonus thinks he sees galaxies in his optics. He kneels down on one knee before him, reverent as he bows his head.

"I said I was a fool, and it was inane of me to think that was past tense."

He raises his head and looks at Tailgate, thinks there is nothing he wouldn't do for the mech before him, anything at all to ensure his spark's safety over everything else. Tailgate's shaking, but it's not from anxiety. His field is full of energy and anticipation. His engine revs once before it starts rumbling softly, and his ventilations are louder at their proximity. Falling like this, into some great unknown, but he's not afraid. Cyclonus thinks he wants to kiss him, but they are rediscovering boundaries and he is rediscovering things he thought his spark would never want again.

(Looking at Tailgate, it's not unlike how he felt when he saw Cybertron again, back in the days before the war.)

"I have caused you much grief, Tailgate," he says carefully. He treads lightly, not for fear of hurting Tailgate, but so he can trust himself to be honest. "And I apologize. Being upfront with my feelings is not easy."

"You're forgiven, I guess," the minibot says after a moment, but there's tenderness and amusement to his voice, audible even through the slight crackle of static.

"It is late, and I do not wish to keep you up. You will need rest for tomorrow's followup appointment with Ratchet."

Tailgate looks disappointed, and it shows in his field. He jolts when Cyclonus pulses a wave of careful askance in his field, and looks up to him again, patiently waiting for him to continue. He worries if what he wants will be asking too much, but when Tailgate is right in front of him and he can feel his field all around him, Cyclonus thinks that lesser mechs have lived for lesser things.

"We will have to talk more about this later," he prefaces, voice soft and his voice almost shakes as he moves his mouth around the words, "But for now, I will ask you: would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?"

Tailgate, surprisingly, doesn't miss a beat. His visor pulses, field lighting up with it, and it's so vibrant Cyclonus almost feels dizzy. "For Conjunx Ritus?"

"Yes."

"You're right," Tailgate says, and he's beaming, and he's absolutely radiant, Cyclonus thinks. "We will have to talk about this a lot later. Rewind's done Conjunx Ritus before so I'll have to ask him about how to do everything."

Cyclonus smiles, and he acquiesces when Tailgate reaches for his hands. His fingers are small and warm around his, and the minibot laughs, gleeful, as he massages Cyclonus' finger joints gently, complaining that they're cold.

_Yes_ , Cyclonus decides, squeezing Tailgate's hands firmly in his own. It's not unlike how he felt when he saw Cybertron again, back in the days before the war.

It's better.


End file.
